Paradise Angel
by Good Question
Summary: Serial Killer AU: Dean has secret admirer and wants to do something about it. Sam thinks it's a bad idea but who can get in the way of true love? Warnings: Dark!fic, minor character death, graphic depictions of violence. Destiel of course.


**Warnings: **Graphic Violence, Minor Character Death (?)

**Paradise Angel **

Blood.

There were splashes across the ceiling and running into the corners of the floor.

The house had a bad floor plan; left the entire foundation tilted.

Castiel crouched down, smiling to himself for having the forethought to leave his trench coat in the car. His breath came in shuttered breaths as he ghosted his fingers over the pools of blood. It had been long enough since the kill for the blood to clot at the edges on the floor. His mind raced as he thought through forensic countermeasures. The blood on the floor was thick enough for him to glide his fingers over without leaving a finger print. Or at least it looked like it. A smirk passed across his lips as he dipped his middle finger into the rapidly cooling red velvet. It clung into the swirled grooves of his fingertip. A droplet slid off as he lifted his finger to his mouth. His tongue dragged languidly, lapping up every bitter taste of copper.

A dark chuckle slipped past his lips as he stood up.

The scene before him was colorfully dark. An old house, filled with history and about to be demolished, and a bloody angel laid across the floor for him. He'd been cut up and sliced open; arms splayed so that they would create a barrier for the red ink. Some of the blood had been dragged with careful, paint like touches, to spread across in the shape of wings. His skin was in beautiful ribbons, flayed open with deep, methodical cuts. It wasn't at all what he'd been expecting.

"How sweet."

Castiel turned around, rubbing his fingertips across his still bloodstained lips and walked out of the old home. There was a trail of gasoline that had been left for him leading to the electrical room. The wires had been pulled out an exposed. He dug into his pocket and cradled the 50 cent, thrift store bought, zippo in his hand before striking it and letting it drop to the start of the line.

The air burned hot behind him as he slid into his car.

- . - . -

"You think he got it?"

"Dean, you're obsessed."

"Shut up," Dean said as he threw one of his towels towards his brother. He'd veered out of his comfort zone a little. He knew they were being followed but instead of being worried about it he'd felt thrilled. It was like a game and he'd long ago grown an appreciation for the strangers work. It had developed into an unshakeable fascination. Perhaps even an unhealthy affection for this ghost.

Sam rolled his eyes and picked up the remote for the TV. The motel sheets were scratchy on his skin as he flipped through channels.

"I think he got it."

Dean stopped scrubbing his wet hair with a second towel and walked out into the main room to watch the news broadcast. His heart pitter pattered as he watched the flames grow higher and higher, engulfing the entire building. As the weakest part of the house started to crumble, he felt his dick pulse with interest. His love letter had been read and responded to. He hadn't even been sure if the person it was intended for would've been able to find it. The man, he assumed it was a man, was a better tracker than Dean had originally give him credit for. Clever little thing.

"Dude, could please get the hell back into the bathroom. Your dick's starting to block the TV and I think I want to vomit."

"Oh come on Sammy! It's a natural and beautiful thing!" Dean chuckled as he dropped the towel from his head to cover his crotch. Before he walked back into the bathroom he threw the towel he'd been holding at his brother. Dean closed the door in glee as he listened to his brother yell and violently throw the towel off of himself.

He stepped back into the shower again, turning it to a lukewarm temperature, and ran his hand down his chest before grasping his dick lightly. Dean ran his thumb along the thickest vein before cupping the soft head of his cock and squeezing. He imagined a warm and pliant body being spread open.

- . - . -

Castiel felt like he had to do something special.

Something monumental.

They'd been leaving little love notes for quite some time now. Since accidentally stumbling onto each others kills and disposal sites things had... started to evolve. More than that, _they _(Castiel assumed from the two different styles of violent craft that it was at least a team of two)usually chose female victims. Blondes. He had picked a male, something he had yet to see him do send him a calling card. Opening a line of communication. Castiel's skin hummed with anticipation at the possibilities and what it could mean. There hadn't even been the traditional torture marks across the body. Clean, deep cuts and slices across all the major arteries to spray and leak blood in the way he liked it. Castiel liked to think it was specifically for him. Although, to be fair it could also simply be that torturing men did nothing for him.

That type of behavior had to be rewarded.

Generally Castiel preferred his projects clean and smooth. One slice across the neck or down an artery on the arm. His addiction was to the blood. The thrill was in watching the liquid spill out from underneath the skin, bright red, bringing with it a smell of iron. The rest was done for simplicity.

A shiver ran from his neck to the bottom of his spine, sliding down to his toes, as he walked into the small office building with a smile.

One main room. One main exit.

"This is going to be so much fun," he whispered as he caressed the blade hidden in his sleeve.

There were a few unfortunate bastards that had decided to work after hours for the campaign. He couldn't find the time to pity them.

The first bleeder he stalked to the bathroom.

The second he caught in the hallway leading to it.

No noise.

Castiel crept towards the control room and grinned as he gently spliced open the neck of the security officer. He reached down and unclipped the keys to the building from his belt. Reverently he ran his fingers over the edges of the keys as he locked all of the back doors. Fire thrummed in his veins as he casually walked to the only door left out of the building. He waved a friendly hello to people remaining in the room.

He had never felt as excited as he did then, locking the last hope for the people in the building.

There was a glimmer in his eye as he looked up and stared at the security camera in the corner. He gave it a little smile.

His switch blade slipped into his hand and he punched it through the closest man's jaw.

For a moment there was silence. Pure and complete; silence.

It only lasted for a few seconds before they started screaming.

But that moment had felt like heaven.

Prior recon had taught him that no one in the office carried a weapon.

It meant he had the luxury of time to have fun.

Castiel sliced and gutted his way through the small crowd of eight, not giving anyone time to call the police, before he paused.

His body shook a little before he got it back under control. His target wasn't in his line of sight. Not that it surprised him. He'd seen her slip underneath her desk when he'd gutted his second gift for his mysterious admirer. Castiel twirled the blade between his fingers as he lazily circled the office, passing the desk she was hiding under several times on purpose.

The more hope they had in their eyes the more pleasure he got out of drying them out.

A small quake from underneath the desk made him pause. Her foot had knocked against the leg of the table. He smiled, strolled his way to the front of the office, and unlocked the front door. Castiel shoved it open and moved towards the desk as it loudly creaked shut. It gave him enough time to walk back without being detected. He waited silently for her to feel comfortable to crawl out. He thought of _him _as she stuck her head out from under the desk and , luckily, looked left first. Castiel launched forward and placed his hand around her throat. He pressed his fingers into the edges of her neck and dragged her, as she kicked, towards the camera.

Castiel smirked as he slit her open and continued to take glances towards the camera while he carved a love letter into her body.

- . - . -

"He's just as fucked in the head as you are."

Dean grabbed the remote control from Sam and turned up the news channel. "That's _him._"

The news anchor's voice repeated on a loop for a warning. This footage is graphic. If you have children in the room, this may be sensitive material. Not suitable for those that are underage.

It was the only time Dean had ever wished for a true stable home so he could've recorded it to re-play later.

"He showed his face. Fuck. He's gorgeous."

"Yeah. He's insane," Sam muttered as he tried to grab the remote back. Knowing his brother, he would stay on the channel for the next milenia trying to catch another showing of the video.

"Oh can it. Not like Ruby was good idea." Sam quieted but couldn't argue. "No, I think... he might like me, ya know. Feel the same way I... " Dean's face split into an embarrassed smile. "He showed his face..." Dean ran his hand across the back of his neck and up through the rest of his head. He rubbed his scalp for a second with an open palm before letting his arm drop back down.

"No shit, Dean. You realize this is bad, though. He might not give two-shits about showing his face but if you keep responding to him we'll get screwed. I really don't wanna go to jail because you're hormonal."

"Quit being a damn wet blanket."

Dean let the remote control drop onto the bed once the news program ended.

"He's perfect," he whispered as he tried to get ready for bed.

- . - . -

Castiel ran his hand down his body, roughly grazing his nipple as he slid his hand further down.

A broken "Dean" stuttered past his lips as he watched a clip online. There was the official version they played on the major news networks, but 'Dean' had recorded a version on one of the dead patrons cellphones and uploaded it to several servers. It had already been taken down from many of them. It had been tedious find. 'Dean' had given him a very precious gift. Cared for him enough to show his face and brave giving out his name.

For the most part Castiel never took trophies or stole, he had an obscene amount of money saved from his childhood trust fund. But, he'd been in a small coffee shop listening to an elderly couple speak about a recent massacre. A bank had been shot up. He'd reacted on impulse. Castiel didn't own a laptop and wasn't going to find a public library to look it up at.

The man whose laptop he now owned had been so sweet. At the wrong place at the wrong time, but he did have priorities.

Being curious, he had looked the event up. Even if someone were to put a gun to his head he would never admit to praying it was response from _him. _ For weeks since his own gift he'd been obsessively checking the news. Although he'd carefully tracked their travels through the country, there hadn't been a body in a long time. It was starting to worry him. Of course he should've known just to be patient. Not a single network had a full name to pin the two people running across the screen with. That was fine. Castiel didn't need a name.

For a moment, he'd been anxiously confused as to which of the two men mowing down the crowd, was the object of his affection. He would never forgive himself for fantasizing about the wrong man and being unfaithful. The video was provided without sound but as the two men stopped in front of the camera (just as he had), one of them winked towards it. Towards him.

Only one of the people in the building had been left untouched by the rain of bullets. The man cut her throat clean open and made sure she bled out on the floor before carving his name into her body.

_Dean. _

- . - . -

"Castiel."

Dean muttered to himself in a pleased daze. They'd been running up and down the San Antonio River Walk, celebrating a night off when they'd stumbled onto crime scene. The sirens had been turned off but the lights had lit up the night sky.

He'd managed sneak one good look at the body before they bagged it up.

"Sounds a lot like Cassiel."

"Huh?" Dean rubbed the cloth over his handgun one last time. He pulled the slide and loaded a bullet just to make sure it worked before dropping the clip out and popping out the round.

"I just thought it was kinda funny." The footage of the office slaughter was playing for the fifth week in a row now.

"It's not funny! I think it's nice. Not everyone has that name, ya know. It's unique. Now do we have a job?"

"Would you stop being so defensive over your boyfriend? Cassiel was the name of an archangel usually only featured in an old version of the Kaballah. I just think it's ironic that he would be named, or named himself, after such a holy and righteous being. I wonder if he's faithful." Sam typed away at his laptop to pull up a profile for their next project.

"What's with you and this religious crap?"

Sam sighed and looked to the side. "I am religious, Dean. Always have been. You know that."

"Hell no I didn't. That's news to me."

"What did you think I was doing every Sunday?"

"I dunno, congregating with hookers and blow. Shit, if you're all up religions' ass what the hell are you doing with me? There's no God, and even if there was, he sure as hell wouldn't be cheerleading for what we're doing."

"Dean- just. There's righteous justice where violence is perfectly- . Fuck it."Sam sighed. While he worked with his brother he didn't quite get the same type of deep searing pleasure from it that his brother did. The arson was the only thing he found even slightly exciting and generally didn't pick subjects for fun. He told himself it made him less of a psycho than his brother. He only killed those who deserved it."You had your little romance and you're gonna get us caught. Don't think you can just switch topics on me." Sam half rolled himself off of the bed. His feet smacked the ground a little harder than he'd intended. Frustration hummed in his veins.

"Would you calm down," Dean muttered as he laid down onto his motel bed. His brothers bad mood was getting to him. "I'm heading out for a little bit."

"Don't do anything stupid."

Dean rolled his eyes and slammed the motel room shut. It had been a little while since he'd received a message back, but he could understand. The blue eyed beauty had taken a massive risk showing his face, but it didn't help with the violently obtrusive frustration that Dean had been feeling. With the massive police presence he hadn't even been able to spend time admiring it. The news wouldn't be satisfying enough either. Second hand viewing never gave him the right type of pleasure.

He hadn't even gone out looking for a target. They had to look the right way. But he'd reacted before thinking. Dean needed to vent and ended up striking down and gutting a drunk stranger trying to force his way up a terrified woman's skirt.

He killed her because witnesses weren't allowed.

Dean had smiled as he carved 'Cas' and a crude heart to the side of her body. He blushed as he pushed his blade through her skin. He wouldn't need to torture her. And she wasn't his type. This wasn't for him. This was for Cas, even if it was so cheesy it was nearly painful. Maybe he could keep Sam from finding out. He'd never hear the end of it.

Dean went home that night praying the the other man would understand.

- . - . -

Castiel slaughtered three blondes in a neighborhood, carving the same symbol he'd seen on the online files into her body. Dean's work had been a little too graphic for the news. Luckily, Castiel was technologically gifted enough to easily access locked police files. The heart on each blonde was practically a carbon copy. As it should have been since he'd printed it out from the police files.

The return gift he saw on the news after he'd laid out the three women, once again had his name the same crude heart laid out in her organs.

No one had ever loved him that much before.

- . - . -

"Fuck Sammy! You really do care."

Sam shrugged his shoulders and gave a shy smile. Dean and Cas had been playing a game for almost a year now. It was the longest relationship his brother had ever been in. It looked like it was getting pretty serious and Sam no longer believed that it would fade anytime soon. Which meant it was either time to get on board or leave. His fears about getting caught had been placated a little with how little evidence there still remained. The officials hadn't caught up yet, although there was loud speculation about them. Serial killer romance. Words like 'depraved', 'twisted', and 'sick' decorated newspaper headlines.

He'd been convinced of the permanency of the situation when 'Cas' had sliced open a woman close to the Singer Salvage yard and left her in an old, beat-up Chevy. Sam had disposed of it in an incinerator they kept in the late, Mr. Singer's panic room.

"He cares about you. And other than his own kills, he seems to actively pick out bleeders that brought in on themselves. I like him. "

"Is that why-?"

"No," Sam took a sip of the beer he had in his hand. "From the bodies he's been dropping for half a year he's been trying to copy our MO. And with how personal messages you've been leaving... 'Cas' hasn't turned us in or left any messy clues that could get us caught. He's been slicing up women the way you pick 'em. He's smart and even made those kills in Wyoming to distract from our signature. I've never seen you happier. You're my brother. I want you to be happy."

Dean smiled gratefully as he looked through an online dating site to find a new target. "He's perfect, Sam. Perfect. "

- . - . -

Castiel first searched the entire premise. The news had gone quiet and there hadn't been any new kills that he had stumbled upon. He'd successfully trailed after them to the salvage yard although he'd missed them staying pausing there.

Maybe he had come too close? The area seemed to hold some level of importance for them. Perhaps he'd taken it too far by leaving a kill here. After not having heard anything from Dean in under a week; he needed to check back.

Two floors and a panic room in the basement. It couldn't have been left alone for too long. The milk in the fridge was still a few days from expiring.

Birds fluttered against an almost empty bird feed as he stepped out the back door. An awful stench, a familiar stench, hit him as he walked out to the porch. Castiel doubled over, trying not to vomit. He had never been a fan of rot. Clutching at his trench coat he followed the smell to a beat up truck. The figure in it looked almost like a skeleton; if it weren't for the pieces of fly eaten flesh, slowly sliding off the bones. The high temperatures must have sped up the decomposition rate. The body couldn't be more than a few days old.

On the side of the truck door there was a carved message.

"If you hurt my brother I will destroy you. He's crazy over you and Dean loves for forever. A show of good faith. Our uncle, just the way you like it. S. W. "

Castiel peered back into the car and let himself smile a little underneath his hand. It had been a sweet gesture. He'd been very clear on Dean's feelings for him but the second man in the footage had been a mystery. For a while, Castiel had been terribly jealous; thinking the second man was Dean's partner. It was a relief to discover that they were brothers. As he walked away from the car, a pleasant hum had been building under his skin. He'd essentially received the approval of the in-laws.

He walked back into the house and inspected the gasoline that had been left out for him. On the desk, where a large box of matches lay, were two pictures. He recognized Dean immediately and flipped over the image to look for a description. 'Dean and Sam 2009'. The second picture was of a beautiful blond woman. She looked a lot like Dean's torture pets.

'Mary Winchester 1988'.

He tucked the two images safely into his trench coat pocket before lighting up the old house.

- . - . -

When Dean walked into the motel room, he nearly put bullet into the wall.

Into _him_.

Sam was still out and he hadn't been expecting any other company.

He had to be hallucinating.

"C-Cas?"

The man sitting on the edge of his bed smiled. And god was it a smile.

Castiel stepped forward and didn't stop moving until, the still raised, gun was less than an inch in front of his face. He tilted his head to the side and moved closer, pulling the pictures out of his pocket and holding them out.

Dean watched with hungry eyes as Castiel placed soft kisses on the edge of the barrel of the gun before nuzzling into it.

"Hello, Dean."

**A/N: **Just a ficlet I had to kinda get out of my system. I watched a fanvideo for SPN (link at my tumblr or in AO3 notes) and I just had to write this. The next chapter of Alibi has been sent to my beta, just waiting on getting it back.


End file.
